Love fills a hole in the heart
by Sister-to-the-Queen
Summary: AU. Direct sequel to Ringil's story "Love is a hole in the heart". Written because I simply could not bear the ending. I just love these two too much.


_Disclaimer: Good Omens belongs to Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman. Jennifer belongs to me. No copyright infringement or personal profit is intended._

_The story you are about to read is a direct sequel to Ringil's achingly sad piece "Love is a hole in the heart", which may be found on this site, and which you must read first in order for the following to make any sense. This story was written with Ringil's permission, and for love of these two._

_A soundtrack to the story can be found on my profile page._

_Also, here is fanart:_

_lunissa. deviantart gallery/ #/ d4yrhfr  
lunissa. deviantart gallery/ #/ d4yrh3q_

_Thank you._

_Warnings: AU (human Aziraphale and Crowley). Slash. Language._

_–––_

_Love fills a hole in the heart_

_–––_

Letting go. Letting go of everything. The water was colder than he'd imagined as he eagerly drew it in. Even down there in the darkness, he could still see them. Those eyes. Those beautiful, beautiful blue eyes. As his life slowly forsook him, a deep feeling of peace replaced it.

Peace. Serenity.

Just like his Angel.

And everything went black.

–––

Azira Fell was sitting in a chair in the waiting room of the hospital, his head in his hands, taking shallow breaths to keep from shrieking out his agony. He didn't even notice the hand of the woman beside him, as it lay gently on his back, didn't hear her sobs.

Anthony... Anthony... Why had he done it? What on earth had possessed him to jump into that river? It couldn't possibly have been what Anthony's sister Jennifer, sitting next to him now, had said it was. Couldn't possibly... But still, Azira knew it was true. And the knowledge made him want to rush out the building and leap into the water himself. Dear God, why hadn't he known?

–––

_"Azira? Azira!" The door to the small bookshop was thrown open, and an extremely angry-looking young woman barged in, slammed the door behind her and ran right up to the counter where the blond bookseller was sitting. He looked up in surprise._

_"Jennifer? What is..."_

_"You fucking son of a bitch! You complete arsehole! Do you know what you've done, huh? Do you? If that policeman had got him out five fucking seconds later, he'd be dead now, do you understand? And it's ALL YOUR FAULT!" she screamed._

_"Jennifer, please!" Azira exclaimed. "I don't know what you're talking about. I haven't done anything to anyone. Who are you talking about, anyway?"_

_Immediately the woman fell silent, and simply stared into blue eyes. Finally, slowly, she spoke, her voice hardly above a whisper. "You don't know? You honestly have no idea, you egotistical fuck?" She leaned forward, hands splayed out on the counter. "This morning, Anthony, my brother, jumped off a bridge over the Thames. That's right," she added with heartbroken delight as she saw those blue eyes widen in horrified shock, "he tried to commit suicide. Because of you."_

_Azira found that he couldn't force speech past the iron bands pressing down on his heart all of a sudden. When he finally did, voice and words were broken. "Anthony? Suicide? Be...cause... of me? Why? I... never..."_

_The woman's forced calm snapped, and she slapped the blond hard across the face, tears streaming down her cheeks. "Have you been blind all these years, you bastard?" she shrieked. "He loved... _loves_ you. Loves you so badly he wants to die because he knows you'll never love him back. Wasn't he good enough for you? You ice-hearted little monster... For his sake, I almost hope he doesn't make it. He doesn't deserve the hell that _you_ put him through!" With that, she turned on her heel, and made to stalk out of the shop._

_Azira sat there, sat there, unmoving, yet a million miles away, buried in ice. Anthony... No... His blood went from frozen water to raging fire. He darted after the woman, grasped her arm before she could walk out._

_"Let me go!"_

_"Jennifer, you have to tell me... Where is he? How is he? Is he still alive?"_

_She tried to pull free, but he tightened his hold, desperately. Finally, she gave up, and said, without looking at him. "Queen's Hospital, intensive care. Yes, he's still alive, like I said. But barely. Water in his lungs, and they can't get it out. The doctors say he probably won't make it. But why do you care? You made him do it. Happy now?"_

_Like knives, her words, like daggers._

_Azira felt like he was going to be sick. His head was spinning like a derwish. Made him do it... Made him do it... Made Anthony... Made Anthony try and kill..._

_"No..." he murmured. "No... No, I didn't... How could I have known?" he asked, deathly pale, his voice rising to a scream. "He never told me, how could I have known?" He shook Jennifer's arm in his agitation. "How could I have known he... he..." Azira sank to the floor, crying, unconsciously pulling Jennifer down with him. "No, no, it can't be! It just can't!" he sobbed. "I never thought..."_

_For many minutes, neither of them spoke, the silence among the old books on the old shelves broken only by the sobs and whimpers of two people on their knees._

_Finally, Jennifer, her anger drained and completely supplanted with sorrow and fear for her beloved brother, spoke. "Azira... I didn't mean what I said. I know that Anthony," her voice trembled at the name, "never showed you how he felt. Always told me that it was impossible. That you were too pure and sweet to understand, and that that was one of the main reasons he loved you, though it cut him up inside. And now..." She didn't finish the sentence. She couldn't._

_Silence._

_"Jennifer?"_

_"Yes?"_

_"Will you... Will you let me visit him? Please?" he asked, looking at her with eyes full of agonized pleading._

_She gazed into those eyes, some of her former rage coming back. "Why? So you can torture him some more?"_

_"No. Not that. Never that. I just... need to see him. Please?" he repeated._

_Still she stared, hostile, assessing him. "Oh, fine. But I warn you, Azira, if you do one thing, one single thing to cause him more pain, God help me, I will kill you myself."_

_"If I hurt him any more," Azira answered heavily, getting up, "then I really think God _will_ help you with that."_

_–––_

"Sir? Madam? Visiting hours have started."

The nurse's cool voice jerked the blond bookseller from his painful reverie. He looked up at her with bloodshot eyes. "Eh? What?"

"Visiting hours have started. Now remember, this is intensive care. No cellphones, no eating, no drinking, and no loud noises."

"Yes, yes, very good," he said quickly. "In what room is Mr Crowley?" His voice cracked on the last word.

"Follow me," came the indifferent reply.

He didn't immediately do so. "Aren't you coming, Jennifer?"

"No... No, I... I can't. Can't face it. Besides, he... would have wanted to be alone with you, even if only for a little while," she said, her handkerchief pressed hard on her eyes as her shoulders shook. "It was all he ever wanted."

Azira turned away from her, his heart like a chunk of lead inside him, and followed the nurse through the door to the intensive care ward, and down the hall to room number seven.

"Now remember, this patient is in a highly precarious state, so I can't let you stay for more than fifteen minutes," she said as she opened the door.

Azira walked through, and did not hear the door close behind him. He was beyond it. He'd rather have pushed broken glass into his eyes than have them see this.

_Anthony... For the love of Heaven, Anthony..._

Anthony. Black hair, short and fine. Golden eyes, that had so often looked at Azira with an expression the kind, timid bookseller had never been able to place. Anthony, asking to be allowed to accompany him to the park to feed the ducks, always appearing as though he'd wanted to ask something entirely different. Anthony, who had never been quite able to meet gentle, deep blue eyes. Anthony, who had been doggedly avoiding him for months now. Anthony, hooked up to a respirator, with an IV in his arm, looking as though the life already had left him. Anthony, and the maddening realization that had started tearing Azira to shreds back in the bookshop.

Azira approached the bed, feeling utterly numb and cold. For a few seconds he just stood there, staring dumbly at its occupant. Then he collapsed once more to his knees, nearly choking as he held back his sobs, hopelessly trying to be quiet. He clasped the limp hand that lay on the sheets, and, tenderly, began to stroke it. And words fell from his lips like rain, soft and incoherent.

"Anthony... _Anthony_... I don't know if you can hear me, but if you can... I'm sorry, Anthony, so sorry... The ducks, the pond... And bread crumbs... Why did you do it? I'm a wretch... Blind idiot... She was right... Only dust and books... Great God... I never understood, but I do now, how you felt... And how... And how _I_ feel... Monster that I am... It took your trying to... Can't say it... To make me see that I... I..."

He pressed the hand to his cheek, and wept aloud, no longer caring about keeping quiet, his heart ripped in half.

"I love you..." he managed to say through his tears. Still holding on to the hand that had become his lifeline to sanity, he leaned forward, and whispered into the other man's ear, "I love you, Anthony... I swear it... It is true... Wake up, please, oh please, wake up... Don't die, beloved... I'll stay with you, be yours... Forever... No matter what happens... Please, Anthony, wa..."

No more words would come. He simply linked his love's fingers in his, rested his head on the pillow, golden hair beside black, and prayed that he himself would die along with the other.

–––

Fifteen minutes later, the nurse came in and said, "Sir, your time is up."

No answer.

Irritated, she walked over to the man kneeling by the bed, and tapped him on the shoulder. "Sir, I said your time is up."

"No," he whispered, more to himself than to her. "Not my time. His. Please," he added, "don't make me leave. I won't cause any trouble, I promise, just... let me stay with him... till he's gone."

He was left alone. All through that night, he cried, prayed, and whispered to his love.

–––

Dawn was in the sky, slowly trickling in through the window.

With its coming, something had changed in the room. Azira was no longer praying for death. He was praying, frantically, for life.

"Dear God... I beg of You, let him live. All our lives are in Your hands. This life, so dear to me, You can save. Please, Almighty Father, don't take him away from me. I know that I am to blame for all of this," he softly kissed the fingers he held, "but do not visit my hopeless folly on him, I implore You. Let me have my love, and let him have me. I... I will do anything, anything You wish, only save..."

It was the final straw. He slumped against the bed, completely exhausted. His eyes were squeezed shut, but the tears would not stop flowing. "Please..."

The barest twitch against the back of his hand. Azira's eyes flew open, and he snapped his head around to look at the fingers entwined with his own. There it was again. He could see it now. A very, very light motion, almost not there at all.

His heart exploded in a blaze of brilliant fireworks, and his breath was snatched away. Slowly, hardly daring to accept the hope now surging through him like a million rivers, he turned back to look at his dear one's closed eyes.

Which were no longer quite closed.

Azira felt the blood in his veins literally stop. For one moment, suspended in white eternity, sight, hearing, feeling, all left him. Then, in one impossibly fast movement, he was leaning over the pillow, gazing deeply into golden eyes, opened only to narrow slits, yet looking at him, knowing him. Two tears ran from those eyes, and went to join the wetness that Azira's had left.

Azira bit down hard on his lip to keep from screaming out in rapture. Instead, he smiled, and with infinite tenderness, he laid his hand on the black head, and ran his somewhat pudgy fingers through the silky hair. Even in his current agitation, he couldn't help but notice just how fine and soft it was. Resting his head once more beside his Anthony's, so that their cheeks touched, he whispered, voice full of tears, of unspeakable joy this time, "You heard me... My love, my darling, you heard me... Shhh... Be still... Rest now... I'll be there when you wake... They won't take me away from you, no matter what... Shhh..."

And Anthony J. Crowley, blessing the act of black despair that had brought him to this Eden, relaxed into his Angel's touch, and slept.

The next day, when he woke, that beautiful hand was still curled around his.


End file.
